


The Delicate Art of Depravity

by bleedinqhearts



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aftercare, Blowjobs, Creampie, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Innocent!Reader, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Updating tags as I go, Vaginal Sex, cum facials, doggystyle, i'm screaming why would i write this shit, ok so i lied perhaps there’s more porn than plot, sue me, wow i just might be the BIGGEST atsumu whore EVER
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23246848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedinqhearts/pseuds/bleedinqhearts
Summary: Atsumu Miya teaches his sweet, naive girlfriend what she's been missing out on.[ a collection of loosely connected smut one shots ]
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader
Comments: 22
Kudos: 328





	1. FIC NAVIGATION

For a cheerleader, you’re awfully shy. It took the entirety of Atsumu Miya’s first year for him to break through the formidable walls surrounding you (read: the surprisingly intimidating lipgloss scowls and acrylic nails that your fellow cheermates adored), and a few months of him toeing the line between best friend versus boyfriend in your second year of school before he finally (in his eloquent way of putting it) “dropped his balls” and decided to think to himself, “fuck it, I’m just gonna go for it”. 

(His crudeness is made even worse whenever you remember that those are nearly the exact words he used when confessing his crush to you.)

(The fact that you still returned his feelings, however, is something Atsumu is quick to remind you about every time you bring up this confession.)

With your shy smiles, the strands of hair framing your face when you tie your hair up, and a nervous habit of giggling awkwardly whenever you couldn’t think of anything to fill the silence of a conversation, you’re considered to be Inarizaki High’s resident sweetheart; an angelic being that entered the freezing cold hallways pure and innocent, and it’s been an unspoken mission that the duty of the entirety of the student body is to protect you from harm at all costs. 

Which is why it was practically breaking news whenever you uploaded a selfie on Instagram of you and Atsumu Miya on a _date_ of all things! Atsumu Miya, who doesn’t have a filter on his mouth and doesn’t discriminate on who’s at the receiving end of all his snappy comments. Atsumu Miya, who’s known for being a bit of a liar and _definitely_ cheated on his midterm for math. Atsumu Miya, who, despite having the facial structure and physique of a god, is anything _but_. If you’re the school’s local angel, he’s Inarizaki’s _devil_. 

(But according to your Instagram caption, he’s quote unquote, “the absolute bestest boyfriend evaaa!!! 🥰🥰”).

Your high school experience is considerably better than most, especially whenever you factor in the fact that you spent a majority of your second year in your first serious relationship with a boy you’re certain you really, really, _really_ like. 

But with high school comes the inevitable learning experiences, and it’s your third and final year of highschool whenever your boyfriend decides to finally teach you what they failed to go over in sex ed.

  * The time when Atsumu teaches you what melted vanilla ice cream on your lips reminds him of. 
  * The time when Atsumu teaches you that a “backshot” isn’t a special move in volleyball.
  * The time when Atsumu teaches you that your boba straw isn’t the only thing you can wrap your lips around.
  * The time when Atsumu teaches you that his fingers aren’t just for setting and serving volleyballs.
  * The time when Atsumu teaches you that you shouldn’t wear short skirts unless it’s for his eyes only.




	2. the time when he shows what melted ice cream reminds him of...

Despite the rumors that cheerleaders are some of the most high maintenance girlfriends to have, you’re surprisingly easy to keep happy. Even though you’ve been voted to be the captain of your cheer team, you still kept the shy tendencies first year you were fond of, including (but not limited to) nervously tucking your hair behind your ears, fiddling with the threads on your school sweater, and blushing at the smallest mistakes everyone gently laughs off for you. 

It’s one of the best parts about dating you. Everyone else frequented the same popular locations, and the last thing Atsumu wants to do is be on a date with his lovely girlfriend and have his conversation interrupted every other five minutes by some Inarizaki nobody trying to prove to his first year classmates that he’s on speaking terms with _the_ Atsumu Miya. And if it isn’t his infamous volleyball reputation that attracts people to you two, it’s the fact that you’re as popular – if not more so – and a whole lot more approachable. Whereas Atsumu takes no hesitation in snapping at the poor, unsuspecting lowerclassmen, you offer them a small smile and a friendly greeting. And even if you’re too kind to say it, Atsumu has no trouble whatsoever when it comes to telling whoever it is that’s interrupting your date to promptly fuck off and never come back. 

( _Honestly_ , going on lowkey dates is a solution that _all_ parties benefit from.)

Simple dates are his specialty anyway, and again, you’re surprisingly (and pleasantly so) easy to please, and he’s thankful for your low maintenance attitude. An impromptu ice cream outing is a typical Atsumu Miya date, one that you never tire of (especially since he lets you get the tallest soft serve cone possible), what with the recent heatwave washing over Japan practically boosting the sales of any frozen treat available. 

He’s walking you back home, both of you still in your respective outfits that you two wear during practice. A loose white t-shirt is tied up, just barely exposing a sliver of your stomach, the tease of skin taunting him. Not like he can avert his gaze to anything less distracting, though; you’re still wearing your black training shorts, ones that no matter what you do will always be riding up.

You’re talking about how cheer practice went; how you’re really happy that all your teammates are following your orders, and that your new routine is coming along together nicely, and as you’re chattering on and on, he _tries_ – he really does – to focus on your words, and maybe it’s the heat, maybe it’s the fact that the locker room conversation this afternoon was even more vulgar than usual, or maybe it’s just all of his suppressed feelings and arousal coming to bite him back in the ass for not chasing after his desires, but he just can’t seem to focus on anything but the way your shirt rises ever so slightly when you raise your arms to emphasize a point; the way you’re tugging at your shorts as they keep riding up your thighs when you walk; and the most tantalizing of all: your mouth when you’re taking a quick second to stop speaking in favor of licking your ice cream cone. 

The hotter-than-average temperatures have caused the ice cream cone to melt at a more rapid speed than normal, and you’re struggling to stop the vanilla ice cream from melting all over your hand. He knows you mean nothing overtly sexual behind your actions, but he’s stuck between wanting to look away and looking on eagerly as he watches you lick the rapidly melting ice cream, your pink tongue licking everything it can reach, and _fuck_ – it’s like the sound of you slurping on your ice cream is being amplified. The sound could be straight off an ASMR video, but right now, it’s like he’s listening to the audio of a cheesy porno. 

It doesn’t help that some of the melted ice cream gets smeared on the corner of your lips. You have no idea what the effect of having your doe eyes looking up at him so innocently as your tongue darts out to lick off the white ice cream does to him, and it’s both frustrating and endearing all at the same time. 

You continue licking at your dessert with a fervor of a competitive eater but to no avail. It’s a noble but fruitless task; the ice cream can hardly be salvaged, and you apologize as you have to chuck it in a nearby trashcan. 

“It’s alright,” He swings an arm casually over your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. Despite having been together for a little over a year, the want (more like _need_ ) for physical contact still remained intact. “We’re almost back to your place, anyway.” 

“Oh, thank god, because I’m all sticky,” You whine. “I need to wash my hands. And my face. Ugh, and I’m all sweaty too.” Never one to stick to one conversation topic for a prolonged period of time, you’re quick to move on back to the original subject of your conversation; something about getting new rubber mats because the old ones kind of hurt to fall on? Whatever you say goes through one ear and out the other as every time you nudge him gently to get him to look and pay attention to you, all he can see (even though you did a fairly good job of licking it all away) is your pretty pink lips and sweet face smeared with ice cream (of course he’s imagining _ice cream_ …right?). 

Even when the two of you make it back to your house, the reverie of your face coated with thick ropes of cum – he means _ice cream_ – keeps coming back to distract him. By the time you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and wash off any remaining stickiness from the ice cream off your hands and face, he’s sporting a bulge in his gym shorts that’s fairly noticeable. 

But when you walk back into your room with a renewed vigor and a freshly washed face, you don’t notice. Instead, you plop down on the bed next to him, mainly focused on your laptop as you open up Netflix. 

“Let’s watch a movie! My parents are still on their trip, and I don’t wanna stay home alone for very long.” 

Sometimes, Atsumu wonders what he did wrong in a past life to deserve to be put in situations like these. Everyone else, he knows, would _kill_ for an opportunity like this: a sweet, loving girlfriend who’s basically the complete package paired with parents who are almost never at home. And any other couple would surely be taking advantage of such circumstances. 

Except, the only downside to all of this is that the only reason why your parents are so trusting of you is because you don’t follow that route of thinking. You think that parents being gone plus being able to invite your boyfriend equals – not the perfect opportunity to have sex – but… to watch a movie as loud as you want, without fear of bothering anyone else. 

You’re so engrossed with the film you’ve chosen that when you pull your sheets over the two of you, you don’t notice the way he’s quick to shift his body around so that your hand doesn’t accidentally graze his hard on. And really, he’s trying to will it away, but it’s insanely difficult whenever the main reason for said boner is inching closer and closer to him as the seconds pass by. When there’s a jumpscare in the middle of the movie, you flinch, quick to wrap your arms around your boyfriend, and Atsumu stiffens. 

“What’s the matter?” You ask, your arms still wrapped around him, eyebrows furrowed as you notice his slightly uncomfortable expression. 

“Nothin’, don’t worry about me, baby. Let’s just watch the movie.” For a bit of a habitual liar, Atsumu’s never been that good at lying to you, and this blatant lie makes you frown. 

“Atsumu, is something wrong?” Before he can try lying to you again, you do what can be considered both the worst and best thing possible: you maneuver your body to where you’re facing him, straddling his lap, and then your eyes widen as you feel him poking the soft flesh of your thigh. “ _Oh_.” 

“Babe, I–”

“How long?” You ask him, still not bothering to change your current position. You sound a little hurt. 

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

“You know, I-” You bite your bottom lip for a second, trying to think of the right wording. “I don’t mind…Helping you with this sort of stuff.”

It’s not like the two of you _haven’t_ had sex before. He had tried to make your first time as enjoyable as possible, and you certainly had no complaints whatsoever, but no matter how much he wants to do “this sort of stuff” with you, there’s always this nasty feeling he gets where it feels like he’s taking advantage of you.

He’s your first serious relationship, and you’ve never done anything you do with him with anyone else. Everything is an all new experience to you, and while you’ve never been one to shy away from challenges, you always have this wavering confidence when it comes to doing such things. 

“I don’t want ya feelin’ like you have to do this.” Despite the position the two of you are in, despite the fact that he doesn’t have a single gentle bone in his body or a kind word in his vocabulary, despite the fact that he expects a lot more from the (lesser) girls he’s been with before you; despite all of all this, he sounds oddly soft, and when he uses his thumb to trace your cheekbone, it’s a tender touch. It’s a side not many people get to see, and something tells you that you just might be the only person who’s allowed to see him like this. The knowledge of this empowers you, making you feel a bit more confident in yourself, helping you add some stronger conviction behind your words as you speak.

“Atsumu–” your hands travel from his chest downwards, fingertips ghosting the outline of the waistband of his gym shorts. “–I _want_ to do this.” 

And that’s really all it took before he found himself sitting on your desk chair, watching with his dark eyes as you sink down on the carpeted floor of your bedroom, one hand resting on his thigh as your other found its way to his dick, wrapping your fingers around his length before pumping up and down a few times.

He lets out a low hiss at the friction. You go a bit slower than what he’s normally accustomed to, but he’s normally never been one for taking things slow. Before he met you, it’s always only been about getting _himself_ off. But in this relationship, you’re both happy to play the role of giver. 

You stroke him, a choice subconsciously made to buy you time to hype yourself up. You know, of course, that Atsumu’s far more experienced than you’ll ever be. It’s nearly embarrassing how easily he can get you off, and you’re determined to maintain the balance in this relationship by providing a helping hand (and mouth) for your boyfriend.

It’s not really your fault for being a little intimidated. His cock is long and girthy, your tiny hand looking even smaller when you’re stroking him off. Your fingers are dainty and your hand so much smoother than his own, and he’s never been an easy person to please – the complete opposite of you, really – but even a simple handjob from you has him over the moon. 

But trying to get him off with just a handjob seems a bit unfair, considering the fact that he always goes the extra mile for you. And besides, it’s not like you don’t want to. 

(In fact, even though the thought has you blushing, you really don’t mind the feeling of having his cock keeping your mouth full.)

You remove your hand, and when he opens his eyes to see what you’re about to do, he’s greeted with the sinful sight of his sweet, angelic girlfriend parting her pretty pink lips to take the first few inches of his cock into her warm mouth. 

He’s mesmerized by the sight; this is an image that he’ll think of whenever you’re not around. You move your head further down, taking more and more of him into your mouth before he hears a muffled gagging sound that disappears almost as soon as it made its presence known. The slight vibration of it, though, only adds to his pleasure. 

That, and the view. You’re trying your hardest to look up at him, your eyes framed with thick lashes and peering up at him every and now then, obviously eager for his approval and praise. The remaining length that you couldn’t fit into your mouth finds itself wrapped in your hands once again, moving in tandem with the bobbing of your head.

He doesn’t want to get too aggressive with you – not yet, anyway – and while his hands rest on the back of your head, he doesn’t push you down or pull you by your hair; instead, he allows you to go at whatever pace you’d like. Not that it particularly matters; with every passing minute, he’s finding it harder to hold back. 

He’s never been very vocal during sex, but his groans of appreciation spur you to move faster, hoping to help him reach his climax soon. 

“ _A-ah_ , you’re the fucking best, babe.” He groans, applying a small amount of pressure to the back of your head, pushing you just a little bit further down, forcing you to take more of him in your mouth. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. Seein’ ya lick that ice cream and having it all over yourself. You’re so hot, babe. You have no idea what ya do to me.” He notices the way your eyes widen in surprise at his admittance of this, but he finds that the more he speaks, the quicker your pace gets, almost like these little confessions give you an energy boost.

“Fuck!” He hisses when you start swirling your tongue around the head of his cock, and there’s a little bit of saliva dripping out of your mouth. You’re still sucking him off, almost like your life depends on it, and when he curses again, you hum in contentment, making his dick all the more sensitive. 

You can’t help the overwhelming urge to smile when you feel his dick start to twitch just the slightest, a sign that he’s about to cum. You’re practically salivating all over his cock; it’s basically shining underneath the warm glow of the lights in your room, and there’s no chance in hell that he can hold back his release anymore. Noticing this, you remove his dick from your mouth with a wet “ _pop_!” and stare up at him. Your lips are swollen and there’s this sort of feral look in your eyes that he’s never quite seen before.

“Y-you can cum all over me… If you want.” You sound shy, but shy girls don’t normally do or say things like this. “I promise I’ll lick it all off.” 

It only takes him a few quick, half-assed strokes for him to release all over you, ropes of hot, thick cum finding purchase on your gorgeous face. The real life image of your face covered in his cum is a lot better than what he saw in his fantasies, and the small amounts of ice cream from earlier this day can’t even compete. 

And true to your word, your tongue tries to lick up whatever it can possibly reach, which isn’t much. You take a finger, gathering up whatever you can, and stick it right in your mouth, looking him in the eyes as you suck on your thin finger before taking it out of your mouth, showing him your completely clean index finger, slick with your spit. 

He nearly cums again, right then and there, especially whenever you give him that sweet, darling smile of yours before telling him, “You taste just as good as the ice cream."


	3. when he teaches you what a "backshot" really is...

“ATSUMU!” You shout, before erupting into a fit of giggles as your boyfriend tightens his grip on you. “Someone’s clingy.” 

“I’m always clingy with you.” He mutters, his face burrowed in the space between your neck and shoulders, his hair tickling your skin. 

“And I don’t mind but you’re all _sweaty_.” You point out, squirming a little bit underneath his death grip but secretly perfectly content with the current position. “Go shower. I’ll still be here when you get back.” 

“But I’m _tired_.” He whines. “Practice was a bitch today.” 

“Oh, yeah? I bet it was!” You perk up, eager to talk about Atsumu’s passion. You’ve never been one to care much about volleyball, besides the fact that you showed up to the big games to cheer for them, but other than that, it hardly ever meant anything to you before Atsumu. “The boys told me about how you were talking about wanting to try backshots or something.” 

“They said what?” Atsumu removes his arms from your body, leaning his body on one elbow as he stares at you. 

“Uh, backshots? I don’t know, is that some special move no one’s supposed to know about?” 

“Baby, who told you about that?”

“Mmm, Osamu. And Kita. And Aran. The whole team, really.” You take note of his furrowed brows and scowl. “What? I promise I won’t tell anyone else about it, you know I won’t.” 

He sighs, taking his free arm to pull you closer to him. “I know, [Y/N], but a backshot isn’t what– Nevermind.” 

“What?” 

“It’s nothing important. Come closer, babe.” 

You do the opposite, pulling away from him, inching closer to the edge of his bed. “No. Not until you tell me what you were going to say.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Obviously it is if you’re too scared to tell me.” You frown.

“C’mon, [Y/N], don’t be like this–”

“You know I won’t babble out all your volleyball secrets and techniques to everyone! If it’s important to you–”

“Sex!” He shouts, interrupting you. 

“Seriously, Atsumu? At a time like this? We were literally talking–”

“No! It’s a…sex thing.” He can’t meet your eyes. 

“Oh.” Well, now you just feel _bad_. It doesn’t matter how long you two have been together, or how many times you’ve had sex; Atsumu’s always been under the impression that you’re just going to stay some sort of naive schoolgirl for the rest of your life, and that he’s somehow corrupting you with every second you spend with him. And while this isn’t necessarily _untrue_ , you do have to admit that you’re not _entirely_ opposed to said corruption.

Not in the slightest.

“Show me.” You finally scoot closer to him, biting down on your bottom lip.

“What?” 

“Show me. What a…backshot is.” 

“Wh– We don’t have to do this.” He’s quick to fall back on this reassurance, as if you didn’t just clearly, explicitly ask him to demonstrate what a backshot is for you.

“Did you do this with other girls before?” You ask, not out of jealousy, but more…morbid curiosity. It’s nothing new; the knowledge that Atsumu’s been doing things like this with various other girls before you and that you’ve never done anything further than a hug with anyone else isn’t just known between the two of you but has at least been speculated by your classmates. 

“They don’t matter.” 

“I know, but if you like it, I at least want to try it.” He still looks reluctant to give in, and you take a hand, guiding his chin forward and forcing him to look at your best puppy dog eyes, paired with a pout and all. “Please, ‘Tsumu? Show me what a backshot is.” 

No matter how much of a gentleman Atsumu Miya tries to be with you, even he has his limits sometimes, and his adoring, sweet girlfriend pouting and begging him to fuck her from behind (is it bad of him to think it’s even hotter that you have no idea just what you’re requesting?) is just too much for his brain to process. 

In a flash, he has your body pinned down beneath his. He’s still wearing the same clothes from practice, and you can smell the faint scent of his deodorant mixing with his sweat, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t just the _slightest_ bit intoxicating. 

Before you can attempt to move your head up to give him a kiss, he’s giving one of your breasts a gentle squeeze before getting off the bed. 

“Scoot down a lil’ further, baby.” He tells you, and despite the fact that he’s the one on his knees on the floor of his bedroom, there’s nothing slightly submissive in his tone. You do as he says, and if you weren’t so hot, you would have shivered as you watched Atsumu lick his lips, staring at your school skirt that you didn’t have time to change out of.

Before he can ask you to do so, you take your thumb, digging it into the waistband of both your skirt and your panties before pulling both off in one swift motion, leaving the bottom half of yourself bare and on display for Atsumu. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He’s staring at your pussy like it’s the very first time he’s ever seen it before, dark eyes filled with a mix of lust and adoration that’s all for you – _only you_. He takes your legs and makes sure that they’re resting comfortably on the tops of his shoulders before making his head at home in between your legs.

“‘Tsumu, wha- what’re you doing?” You gasp out, as if him going down on you was something out of the ordinary. Which, to be honest, kind of was – not because he chose not to do it, but because you never required much foreplay before you were ready for him. 

He doesn’t answer verbally; rather, he decides to show you exactly what he’s doing. A quick lick up the length of your slit has you giving him a tiny whimper, but when his tongue actually pushes past your folds and reaches into you, you moan loudly, much to Atsumu’s delight. 

He always complains about noise breaking his concentration, but it’s another thing entirely whenever it’s you moaning out his name as he eats you out with a fervor of a man starved. If you weren’t wet before, you’re practically _soaking_ now. You wonder, briefly, why you’ve always been a little reluctant to allow Atsumu to go down on you; you’re regretting every golden opportunity to have him eat you out that you didn’t take. 

His tongue is practically exploring every centimeter inside of you, leaving no spot untouched, and when he finds that golden spot inside of you that has you bucking your hips, begging him to give you _more_ , he wants to grin. He wants to tell you that _of course_ , he’ll stay down here as long as you want him to, that he could eat you out forever and never grow tired of it, sustaining himself purely on your juices, but he doesn’t; all he does is continue to fuck you with his tongue, lapping and sucking, practically drowning in your arousal, but he doesn’t mind. 

The sounds filling his room are absolutely vulgar; wet and lewd and just downright _sinful_ , juxtaposing the near reverent way you moan his name.

“A-Atsumu!” You dig your heels into his back, arching your back and practically riding his tongue. _Fuck_. You had no idea that something like this could feel so _good_. 

He removes his tongue from you, choosing to pay special attention to your swollen, needy clit, giving it a light suck that catches you by surprise and has you crying out his name before cumming. Right when you think that nothing could shock you, Atsumu dives right back in, as if he’s dehydrated and his only source of hydration is your arousal that’s dripping all over his bedsheets. When he’s satisfied, he pulls back, revealing his chin that’s dripping with your juices, his lips shiny and his face painted with a light pink blush. 

“I think you’re ready now, baby.” He says, giving your thigh a rough squeeze. “Get on all fours for me, okay?” 

He sounds a little out of breath, both because of the fact that he just ate you out vigorously and because the sight of you getting into position is a breathtaking sight in and of itself. 

He stands up, his cock straining against his shorts, and he spares no seconds as he pulls them off alongside his boxers. Calloused hands find their way to your hips, and he’s rubbing small, soothing circles on your skin with his thumbs. You wouldn’t guess it, but Atsumu can be surprisingly gentle and even sweet during times like these. 

“At-” Before you can ask him what’s taking so long, you whimper the moment you feel the head of his cock brush against your soaking entrance. 

“Don’t worry, baby, I’m gonna make you feel good, alright?” He coos, and you don’t turn around to face him as you nod. To what you’re agreeing with, you’re not quite sure; yes, he’s going to make you feel good, yes you want to go through with this, or maybe yes, you just want to say or do whatever it takes for him to finally give you want. 

He enters you with a groan, his grip on your hips tightening and sure to leave a mark. You adjust to the feeling of his cock being buried deep in your wet cunt, and you give another nod before he pulls out, just the slightest bit, before pushing himself back in. 

“ _Ohhh_!” You cry out, loving the way his dick seems to stretch you out perfectly. You love it all: the way his, long and girthy, fills you up so well; the way one hand remains on your hip as the other one makes a hasty exploration of what the rest of your body has to offer up – a quick squeeze on your breasts, twirling a strand of hair in between his fingers, giving it an experimental tug to see your reaction. From this position, he can’t really kiss you, but he supposes there are some pros to this, and one of them is the fact that you’re practically sobbing for him and his dick to fuck you so well. 

You know what sex is like with Atsumu, but you just never knew it could feel this _good_. You’ve thought that the two of you have already reached peak satisfaction when it came to sex, but apparently, he’s been holding back even more than what you suspected. 

His dick seems to be reaching deeper inside of you, impossibly so. This deeper penetration is already enough to get you to focus only on the feeling of his dick filling you up, reducing you – Inarizaki High’s darling sweetheart – to nothing more than Atsumu Miya’s little depraved cockslut, but _fuck_ – with every snap of his hips, he has you keening for more, more, _more_. 

“Ah– ‘Tsumu, _right there_ , right th-there!” You practically shriek as he thrusts himself in harsher, brushing against a spot in you that has your knees buckling. Your arms are shaking, and you can’t really hold yourself up anymore, so you just allow your upper body to fall, moan muffled by Atsumu’s pillows. You’re distinctly aware of the low growl he gives out before he practically rams himself inside of you with a renewed vigor. 

This shocking burst of energy, his continual assault on your G-spot – hitting it with a sloppy precision that has you tearing up –, and the wet sounds of him thrusting into you repeatedly are more than enough to send right over the edge. 

You wail out his name, caught between praising and cursing him, as you cum. And he still doesn’t stop, doesn’t bother to slow down – in fact, he’s fucking you even more fervently, chasing after his own release. The feeling of your cum coating his dick and the way your sensitive walls are still clamping down on him has him releasing inside your already dripping cunt. 

The two of you are reduced to nothing more than two, flushed bodies, panting and sweating slightly, both of you thoroughly exhausted. The previous energy in Atsumu has all but evaporated, but he collapses onto the bed next to you after pulling out, ignoring the sticky mess the two of you just made. 

“C’mere, baby.” He mumbles, laying on his back, and you crawl onto his chest, resting your head, listening to the sound of his heart beating. 

“So, that was a backshot, huh?”

“Did you like it?” He asks, a hand trailing all over the side of your body, fingers skimming over your soft skin. 

“Loved it.” You murmured, snuggling up closer to him, eyes shut.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You reaffirm, stifling a yawn, but not quite unable to hold back your second one. “Love you, too.”

You’re asleep before you can even hear him say it back.

(He doesn’t mind, though – he has all the time in the world to tell you it.)


End file.
